FOUR

July 1946

Freidrichshafen, Occupied Germany

    Archibald Morgan hopped onto the hot front seat of the green Willys-Overland Jeep. His green bowtie, white shirt, and green slacks were still spotless, but badly wrinkled, after three days of travel.

    He rocked back and forth until the springs fit properly against his legs and back. The map showed a three hundred kilometer journey from the shores of Lake Bodensee to Nuremberg, and with Germany’s vaunted autobahns still a mess, he expected the trip to last most of the day.

    The driver tossed Morgan’s luggage into the back of the Jeep. Then he buttoned the tarp and climbed behind the steering wheel. He wiped his brow, smoothed the wrinkles out of his green uniform, and jabbed the starter button. “We’re all set, Mr. Morgan,” he said. “Next stop, Nuremberg.”

    Morgan cocked his head at the driver. “It appears you worked for the railroads before the war.”

    “Assistant conductor on the Toledo-Cleveland line until forty-one, when I joined Soul Identity.” The driver stuck out his hand. “First Sergeant James Little, Mr. Morgan.”

    Morgan looked at his hand. “First Sergeant?”

    The driver’s eyes widened. Then he shook his head and chuckled. “I’ve got to remember I’m back to deliveries now that the war’s over. James Little, sir. My own line’s got fifty-six years of service.”

    They shook hands.

    “How long a drive is it, Mr. Little?” Morgan asked.

    “It’s James, sir,” he said. “Four hours, if there’s no truck accidents, so call it six to be safe.”

    “That is faster than I had hoped for.”

    James shook his head. “And then we have two more hours for the American checkpoint.”

    Morgan nodded. “We had better get going then.”

    “Yes sir.” James pulled the Jeep onto the road and steered around the potholes. He reached behind the bench and brought out a dull green steel case the size of a lunchbox. A small brass padlock dangled from the front of it. “Mr. Morgan, this package arrived in the Nuremberg office yesterday afternoon.”

    Morgan took the case and examined it. It weighed only a pound or so. The wax seal covering the padlock’s keyhole showed no signs of tampering, and he carefully peeled it off.

    Morgan unknotted his bowtie, unbuttoned his collar, reached inside his shirt, and withdrew a key on a long chain necklace. He unlocked the padlock, then turned and used his body to shield the case from James. The hinges screeched as he opened the lid. He took a deep breath, then reached inside and pulled out a green velvet cloth bag.

    A tap on his shoulder caused Morgan to whirl around and slam the lid shut. “Mr. Little, I must request privacy.” His words cut through the stifling hot air.

    James pulled back and frowned. “Sorry, Mr. Morgan. I’m supposed to watch you at all times.”

    Morgan narrowed his eyes. “Watch from a distance.” He turned back to examine the contents.